Even Batiste, urged by the others of the group, had to drink. He did not like it, but a man ought to try everything; and he began to hearten himself with the same reflections which had brought him to the tavern. When a man has worked and has his harvest in the granary, he can well afford to permit himself his bit of folly.
He felt a warmth in his stomach, and a delicious confusion in his head: he began to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of the tavern, and found the contest more and more entertaining.
Even Pimentó seemed to him to be a notable man ... after a fashion.
They had ended the game with a score of ... (nobody knew how much) and they were now discussing the approaching supper with their friends. One of the Terrerolas was losing ground visibly. The two days of brandy-drinking without food, the two nights passed in a haze, began to affect him in spite of himself. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back heavily upon his brother, who revived him with tremendous blows on the sides secretly given under the table.
Pimentó smiled craftily. He already had one of them down. And he discussed the supper with his admirers. It ought to be sumptuous without regard for expense: in any event, he did not have to pay for it. A meal which would be a worthy climax to the exploit, for on that same night, the bet would surely be ended.
And like a glorious trumpet announcing beforehand Pimentó's triumph, the snores of Terrerola the younger began to be heard; he had collapsed face downward over the table, and was almost on the point of falling from the stool, as if all the brandy which had gone into his stomach were by the law of gravity seeking the floor.
His brother spoke of arousing him with slaps, but Pimentó intervened good-naturedly, like a magnanimous conqueror. They would awaken him at the supper-hour. And pretending to give but little importance to the contest and to his own prowess, he spoke of his lack of appetite as of a great misfortune, after having passed two days in this place eating and drinking brutally.
A friend ran to the tavern to carry over a long string of red pepper-pods. This would bring his appetite back to him. The jest provoked great laughter; and Pimentó, in order to amaze his admirers the more, offered the infernal titbit to Terrerola, who still remained firm, and he, on his part, began to devour it with the same indifference as though it were bread.
A murmur of admiration ran through the group. For each pod which was eaten by the other, the husband of Pepeta gulped down three, and thus made an end of the string, a regular rosary of red demons. The brute must have an iron-plate stomach!
And he went on, just as firm, just as impassive, though growing continually paler and with eyes red and swollen, asking if Copa had killed a pair of chickens for the supper, and giving instructions about the manner of cooking them.